Just a Man
by Eriks Little Stalker
Summary: ErikPhantom, heartbroken, muses when Christine left him. ALW Musical, but has some Kay's story referances.


Just a man;

By, me.

RATING: PG. I guess?

DISCLAIMER: Based off the musical, with reference of Kay's novel, I own nothing. K. Good.

SUMMARY: Erik/Phantom, heartbroken, muses over his last moments on earth, realizing that he isn't the monster generations after him may hear of the Phantom, but only a man who didn't get the better end of life's deal.

NOTES: Since I am Mnsr. Erik's stalker, hence my name, I should write a fanfic about the guy. Angst, warning.

She's gone.

No more angel, no more refuge from this cold and darkening existence that has been doomed to be my existence since my birth. The only woman who I ever truly love – and lusted – for, Christine Daae, went out of my grasp and into the welcoming arms of the young and dashing Raoul, leaving me here. Alone.

Alone.

I brought this upon my self, I know that now. I look at the mask on the floor, my breathing ragged, only in a dirty dress suite, and I hear the mob approaching.

Death; I welcome you. I, Erik, Phantom, welcome you with open arms.

I drop to my knees against the damp, cellar floor, shutting my eyes closely. Ayesha, the exotic and beautiful Persian Siamese cat I rescued not so long ago rubs against me, ever affectionate.

Would I always have to be alone? Is there no compassion – no god to save me? I cry. I didn't care if they could hear my sobs, but I did.

Her white veil was still in my hands. Drying my tears as I stuffed my disfigured face, my true downfall, in the white material, truly crying.

Yet, I did not close my eyes. Through the veil, since its such a thin material, with little holes for effect, I could still see my mask.

I remember how my mother, my own mother, put me in front of that mirror so long ago...forcing me into reality: Why I should have to wear the mask? I asked her, in my five-year-old innocence. Why? It did itch. But, she proved to me, that as long as I wore my mask, I would be protected. Ever since then, it became a necessity. Rather than protection. Beautiful, mad, unhappy Madeline. I did forgive her of her abuse, and neglectance. But, I will never forget the tortures she inflected on me.

The priest, who named me after his own name, should of murdered me when I was born. Christine would of never had to know me, my mother would never of had to give up her life for me. I would of gave everyone happiness if I just died. I will die. I know that. Fifty years of pain and knowledge is far too long for me.

My amber eyes look to Christine's old room, her door open to see the marvel of the design that I made, especially for that girl. How I wanted to love her, to marry her, to possibly father a child with her? I drop the veil to the floor. The mob is almost here – almost. Carlotta crying out for her lost love, Piangi, and the managers mostly walk with the crowd for good measure.

Typical.

Rising to my feet, I grab my mask and put it over my face once again, to seal my fate. I will not die by a mob; I'm sure of that. Just then, as I looked into the broken mirror, one I broke in a fit of anguish when Christine proclaimed her love to Raoul at Apollo's Lyre, I took my mask off. To finally see my reflection for what it was.

A man. No angel. No monster. Just a man.

The mask fell to the floor again, and I hear them approaching nearer and nearer. I will not die a monster! I will not be a monster! I know I shall be a legend, I realize that. But, not a evil one! Moving into the darkness, after picking up my hooded cloak, I envelope myself in the farthest corner, playing a chameleon to the unwanted visitors whom I terrorized for three years as of now. The raided everything. My organ, my furniture, my coffin. Christine's room, though the door was open, was hidden in the shadows. Her room, the only thing I have of her, would be safe.

I will not live through this, but they will not kill me. Nor condemn me anymore. I'm a man, same as them.

They set fire to my organ, a gruff, beareded man did. And took off as the fire arosed. Did they not know the could burn the Opera down? They better pray that the fire dies down by the dark, deep lake that I countlessly took Christine a ride on through the labyrinth to my strange, and little, adobe.

They left. My vision begines to cloud as the smoke enfulges my lungs, I feel another seizure coming on...and I welcome it. The flames dance to the ceiling now, in a fatal tango as the room lightens up by the fire. Fire. Oh how it burns your soul. My soul burned of fire, of passion, for Mlle.Daae. Still, my heart beats in harmony with hers. With never ending fantasies, even as I die, of me kissing her. Making love to her. She is in me.

I fall to the ground, my mask beside me.

Christine, you alone made any song of mine take flight. But, this angel has true irony for his little lotte; it's over now, the music of the night.


End file.
